


Father Christmas and the Search Warrant

by PatPrecieux



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Christmas Smut, First Time, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: When James writes a letter to Father Christmas, he doesn't expect an answer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yes James, there IS a Father Christmas.

The sounds of screaming, crying, retching, and trauma were not new to the Thames Valley Police Station. That was, however, usually associated with felons and petty criminals. Today it was an invasion by an army of kiddies age three to five.

 

It was, heaven bless them, the young children and grandchildren of the Oxford constabulary, assembled for their annual Christmas Party. It was a gala affair marked by spilled drinks, food fights and little ones, unfortunately, terrified of Father Christmas.

 

D.I. Robbie Lewis looked on with amusement at the chaos. While he did feel some sympathy for Laura Hobson bravely trying as Head Elf (no one else could squeeze into the costume) to calm the restless mob; he felt no such thing for the sweating, struggling Father Christmas. Actually,Lewis reckoned, he'd cry too if confronted with Alan Peterson as "Santa Claus."

 

Since Laura and Alan had become a couple, they were joined at the hip. Today it looked as if they regretted taking these assignments in order to be together. "Enjoy", thought Robbie grinning with no remorse.

 

In full command mode, Jean Innocent barked orders to every corner- buffet table, craft room and the Father Christmas Postal Service.

 

Robbie turned his attention to the brightly decorated hall where the wee lads and lasses were writing, with help, their wish lists to Father Christmas. The day everyone was given the chance to volunteer for a job at the party, Robbie had wisely chosen facilitator, a fancy name for traffic cop for what was where.

 

His Sergeant had chosen plausible deniability, reasoning if you didn't volunteer, you would remain unnoticed. Innocent, tho, was not in the habit of overlooking anyone. 

 

When she had cornered Lewis about it, all Robbie remembered saying was, "Can't say as I know ma'am. Afterall me Sergeant is a man of letters, not given to holiday jollies" Future foretold.

 

Thus it was, that Detective Sergeant James Hathaway was seated eight inches off the floor, wedged into one of the toddler chairs borrowed from the local day care center. 

 

Robbie would have found it more comical if it were not for the fact that James seemed in physical agony. He would be though wouldn't he. His knees were under his chin, and Lewis suspected Hathaway's kidneys were pressing on his collar bone.

 

Schooling his expression, he approached. "Sergeant how goes the wish lists?" James looked up with an expression of pained irritation and ground out, "Fine Sir. Thank you so much that I am, and I quote, 'a man of letters.' I WILL be repaying the favor."

 

Before Lewis could reply, the little red headed girl by James tugged on his sleeve, "Sergeant Halfway, how do you spell skateboard?" Seeing his Governor's eyes widen James took the crayon and wrote, "There you are Sarah, t-r-i-c-y-c-l-e, skateboard." "Tank you Sergeant Halfway." Looking shyly up at Robbie she asked, "Are you Sergeant Halfway's Daddy?" The older man swallowed his tongue and choked out "No Sarah, I'm his bo-, ah, his friend."

 

For a moment, she frowned as if pondering a problem then asked, "Can friends make friends do things?" "Sometimes. Why?" "Well," she crossed her arms obviously put out,"I keep trying to tell Sergeant Halfway if he doesn't write his letter, he won't get his wish. But he won't, and he's been so nice, I hate to see Father Christmas pass him by. Can you make him write his letter?"

 

Fighting a war between his glee at James' blush inducing discomfort and how touched he was by the child's sincerity, Lewis smiled gently. " I know just the trick Sarah." He turned to James, his face and voice soft, "Sergeant, we mustn't disappoint this lovely lady. Letter, now please. That's an order James."

 

When James balked, Robbie remained kind but firm. "Sarah and I are going to finish her letter while you write yours. We promise not to peek, but," he said gesturing to himself, "Father Christmas will know if you're not writing a real letter. So, off you go!"

 

As Robbie settled into a "big boy's chair" next to Sarah, James grudgingly picked up a crayon and began to scribble on a piece of brightly colored construction paper. Lewis raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.

 

"Here lad," he said passing James a pen, "big boys need to use ink. Don't you think Sarah?" The little girl nodded before going back to her own letter.

 

For the next little while, all was quiet. Sarah finally sealed her envelope with glitter glue and ran to James for a hug. Robbie felt something tug at his heart as the younger man awkwardly accepted the affection.

 

"Thank you Sergeant Halfway, I just know Father Christmas will visit both of us. Did you finish your letter?"

 

James nodded and held his missive up for inspection. "Indeed young miss. Now we'll take them to the letterbox." 

 

There were those who believed that Jean Innocent's husband was fiction; never seen, never heard. But supposedly, Mr. Innocent had crafted the large "mock" letterbox painted red and green and labeled Father Christmas.

 

With great care, James lifted the child up to deposit her letter. Then, thinking himself the master of stealth, he pretended to "mail" his letter, while actually dropping it behind the slot and on to the floor.

 

He patted Sarah on the head and ambled off to answer the phone.  
When he was out of sight, she bent down and retrieved the letter.  
With a solemn face she walked over to Robbie, chin trembling.

 

Seeing her distress, he got down on one knee, "What's this then Miss Sarah? You're too pretty a lass to be sad."

 

"Oh Mr. ..Mr. Sergeant Halfway's friend," she sniffled, "the Sergeant dropped his letter on the floor by accident. I picked it up, but I'm too small to reach the slot. My mummy is waiting; will you help me?"

 

"Oxfordshire Police at your service Miss", he said formally, making the child laugh, "I shall post it myself. You run on to you mum now and Happy Christmas." As the little girl skipped away, Robbie tucked the letter into his jacket.

 

Much later, "That's us done for the day then; fancy a pint Sergeant 'Halfway'?", he teased with a wink.

 

James managed a weak lopsided grin, "Think I'll pass, Sir. I'm afraid my delicate disposition is not accustomed to kiddies. In that regard, I am 'halfway', never quite get the hang of anything."

 

Lewis scowled, "Here then, I'll not have you talking that way about me best Sergeant. There's lots of things I might say 'bout you lad, but 'Halfway Hathaway isn't one of them. Just cause you're not ready for a roomful of sugar fueled wee ones, doesn't make you a failure. Just normal."

 

James shrugged, "But Sir, it's true isn't it? Seminary, relationships, friendships all halfway. Sir, I'm sorry, but I really am working on a beast of a headache. I'll see you tomorrow."

 

Watching the woebegone young man retreat, Lewis said under his breath, "Oh lad, who or what made you like this ?"

 

In his flat later that night after a cold sandwich and warm beer, Robbie went to his jacket and grabbed James' letter. Opening it he made a wish of his own, "Here's hoping you actually wrote something down Sergeant."

 

The letter began: "Dear Father Christmas,  
Wish I could say I've been a good boy this year, but I haven't. I smoke and drink too much, and worst of all I constantly lie and hide things from my Governor.

 

He's a fine man, always trying to draw me out of myself to be more social, more friendly. Mostly, I suppose though I avoid things because to be around Robbie breaks my heart. I want so much that I know I can and will never have.

 

If he ever suspected how I feel about him, I'd have less than nothing, so I keep my own company. But he ordered me to write this letter and I wouldn't want to disappoint him.

 

Therefore, Father Christmas, I respectfully make the following requests. For Christmas I should like a new set of guitar strings, the posh ones that I'm too cheap to buy. Also a ridiculously large tin of Liquorice Allsorts; I love the taste and they hide how much I'm still smoking from D.I.Lewis. He thinks I've cut back more than I have, don't tell him.

 

Lastly, since I'm obviously, at least for tonight, believing you are real, Father Christmas, please send someone to love me. 

 

Wishing for you safe journey Christmas Eve, with thanks,  
James Hathaway"

 

Robbie was startled to see the paper in his hands was wet. Only then did he realize that there were tears running down his face. "James, James how can you be so smart and so stupid at the same bloody time?"  
•~•

 

" 'Twas the night before Christmas," Robbie recited as he dumped the last of the files into a drawer, "what the devil are both of us staying here for?"

 

James smiled in spite of his glum mood, "Very poetic Sir, write that yourself did you?"

 

"Don't be a smart arse, clever clogs. Now we're going for a Wassail Bowl or three and at the very least a stew or pie."

 

"Sir, that's very nice of you but..."

 

"Not tonight Sergeant. It's Christmas Eve, and I'll not be refused. Besides with our Lyn on bed rest for the bairn, I'd just be sitting at home alone. As for you, Midnight Mass will give you ample opportunity to confess and repent our dinner excesses."

 

James sighed heavily, "If needs must."

 

"Only you Hathaway can make a holiday invitation into a trial by fire. We're going out for a good time, like it or not!"

 

And they did have a good time; but still it made Robbie sad to see how very careful James was around him. How very frightened he was to betray himself to his friend. The hardest part was their goodnight, strained and reluctant.

 

"Sir, you could come with me."

 

"To Mass? James, lad, you want the rafters to come down around you? I know you'd say, God won't mind, but still wouldn't chance it if I were you."

 

As they walked away in opposite directions, Robbie smiled. "Cheer up bonnie lad, Christmas is at hand."

 

James had walked to Mass, and now as large snowflakes began to fall, his feet began to remind him fancy dress shoes were not for nasty weather. His mood was filled with a sorrow that even Mass hadn't been able to soothe.

 

The tall blonde picked up his pace eager to get to his flat. He never thought of it as home, just a place to sleep, shower and keep his clothes. He couldn't remember a real home since his Mother..Well, that was not something he wanted to think about especially tonight.

 

Rounding the corner, James was shocked to see light coming from his frontroom window. His first thought was fire prompting him to run, until he realized the color was wrong for flames. Gingerly opening the door, maybe British coppers should have guns, he was shocked to see the room filled with decorations, and at the   
center a small but beautiful Christmas Tree.

 

He blinked several times to confirm he was indeed in his own flat. The flat that, when he left that morning, had not so much as even a Christmas card on display. Toeing off his wet shoes, he checked the rest of the rooms looking for, "What", he thought, "a prowler who breaks in to bring things instead of taking them?"

 

He found nothing amiss save for, strangely, food in the refrigerator that hadn't been there before. Also, the smell of spices permiated the entire flat. His astonishment was rudely interrupted by someone leaning heavily on his door buzzer.

 

Dazed, he debated finding shoes, but, he reasoned,"if I'm dreaming what does it matter if I answer the door in my stocking feet." James made his way to the door only to find what appeared to be Father Christmas ringing his bell. "Might as well have a friendly hallucination Hathaway," he mused, and opened the door.

 

At first glance, however, this visitor seemed to be less than amicable. Immediately, a paper was thrust in his face, and a gruff voice loudly announced, "Father Christmas, I have a warrant to search these premises for Holiday Contraband."

 

James found himself simply standing and staring at this strange visage in his flat. "Search warrant?", he replied dumbly.

 

"Aye, now step aside, I'm searching for contraband and I had better well find some. If this is a Christmas free zone, there are going to be serious consequences." Without another word, the hallucination began storming through the flat.

 

"Decorations,yes good; tree,excellent"; pushing his way into the small kitchen, "appropriate food, acceptable; seasonal smells,ah well done; presents under the tree. Oh dear, oh dear, this will never do. No, this is a most serious violation of multiple holiday codes. If this isn't remedied, I'm afraid I'll have to issue you a warning, followed by a summons. You do not have to say anything-"

 

It was at this point that James' brain came back on line. "Sir, is that you? What are you doing? Am I awake?"

 

"So many questions at once. Should be clear to you James that I'm Father Christmas. If I were this Sir you're asking about, he would want to be called Robbie on Christmas Eve. Doing here? I'm bringing much needed cheer to this dreary place. As for you being awake, I've gone to a great deal of trouble to invade your 'visions of sugarplums' if you're not."

 

"Sugarplums? I don't..Sir..I..You...What is happening?"

 

The costumed man reached out a gloved hand and placed it on James' shoulder. "Christmas, canny lad, Christmas. Now let me see, I think there is something in my sack here for a James Hathaway. Seems you made the nice list - just. Don't stand there young man, Father Christmas is gasping for a lager. No need for the disapproving look. The reindeer do all the driving, I'm only a passenger. Besides, this is my last stop for the night. Lager!"

 

"Might as well give in to the insanity I suppose, one lager on the way. Any cookies or cakes to go with that?"

 

"Bit of that ham you've got wouldn't go amiss, with cheese."

 

"I have ham and cheese, of course I do. Who am I to doubt Father Christmas. Since my vision is eating, I might as well too. I shall return momentarily."

 

With sandwiches and drinks consumed and the atmosphere relaxed, Father Christmas pressed on. "Now let me see, yes here they are last two gifts in my bag. It's after midnight, lad. Happy Christmas. Go on then. Isn't often Father Christmas gets to see the result of his efforts."

 

James took the large red stocking with his name stitched across the top that was offered him and held it, slightly bewildered.

 

"It isn't going to explode or anything, promise lad."

 

"Sorry, it's just been so long since I've gotten, since anyone.." He reached into the stocking and pulled out a long metal cylinder. Opening it a smile broke out on his face, "Allsorts, these are my favorites."

 

"The elves report you use them to hide your smoking. Next time just eat one instead of a smoke, and get more healthy for the sake of the people who care about you. One more in there."

 

James closed his fingers around a smaller package which contained the guitar strings. "I can't accept these, they're too dear."

 

Father Christmas made a show of looking quite stern. "Your Governor tells me you're very talented and worth the price."

 

James fingered the strings as if they were made of gold; but then he went ghostly pale. So pale, Robbie was alarmed.

 

"James lad are you ill ?"

 

Eyes nailed to the carpet, he spoke just above a whisper, "The letter, you saw the letter."

 

"I did. Little Sarah found it and brought it to your Inspector. Right worried she was you'd be passed over by Father Christmas. So here I am."

 

The younger man looked striken, "I can't believe you saw, you know that..God forgive me."

 

"James stop, I've something to say. Up to now this has been harmless fun. Save harder calluses on your fingers or an extra bit of flesh on your bones there's no harm done. But there was one more thing on your list. That one could do harm, and if it did, I would never be able to forgive meself. So James I need your permission."

 

Robbie removed his gloves and reached up to pull off the long white beard from his face while looking earnestly at his Sergeant. "James I need you to tell me this is alright, that you want this. That letter brought me here so please lad, let me love you." 

 

When James neither moved or spoke, Robbie stepped closer and placed a chaste kiss on the taller man's lips. "Tell me now James or this ends before it starts."

 

"I am awake, you really are here, this is actually happening ?"

 

"Swear on Father Christmas, Sergeant."

 

"Then my answer is, help James Halfway finally finish something he, we started. My first humble opinion would be that you must be getting very warm in that costume."

 

"What exactly are you suggesting clever clogs?"

 

"Perhaps that might be two more packages left to unwrap. One from me to you, and one from you to me."

 

"Afraid I'm not following," Robbie chided.

 

"That's why I'm the bright one, Father, or should I say Daddy?"

 

It was a toss up as to who turned more red, OR who unwrapped their packages faster. Father Christmas and Sergeant Halfway were magically transformed to Robbie and James on the short trip to the bedroom.

 

James discovered he preferred the taste of Robbie even to Allsorts, and Robbie found giving His James a blow job was better than the best peppermint stick he had ever licked.

 

Side by side in bed, James began to giggle. "I was just thinking of my favorite Christmas story, about the little mouse who bet Father Christmas he could get just one thing more thing into a full Christmas stocking. The mouse won the bet by chewing the tiniest of holes in the bottom of the stocking"

 

Robbie waggled his eyebrows, "Are you wanting me to chew a hole in your bottom, bonnie lad ?"

 

"Ah, no, Sir. I thought perhaps I might chew one in yours. But first you'll have to see just how tightly you can stuff my stocking."

 

Later, seated balls deep inside James, Robbie kissed his neck and back, his voice rumbling up from deep within his heart. "Don't ever doubt how much I love you James."

 

Words soft as the outside snow drifted up to meet him, "As I love you Robbie. I never would have imagined this much happiness."

 

Robbie pulled James tight to his chest and whispered, "Remember from now on, pet, always write that Christmas letter, 'cause you never know. Father Christmas just might show up at your door with a search warrant."

**Author's Note:**

> Here's hoping that Christmas has some extra spice,  
> A little bit naughty, a little bit nice.  
> Now Our Boys say as they turn out the light,  
> "Happy Christmas our fandom and to all a goodnight."


End file.
